Page 78 of Filthy Liar

We can’t loseany more of our men. We’re on the verge of war. We already have enough shit going on. We’ve also experienced more betrayal in this club than I could have ever imagined possible. If Fate is fucking us over, I’m not sure what the fuck we’re gonna do.

But when Fate walks into the bar about two minutes after Dillion goes up to her room, it is clear that his expression is not one of betrayal but of concern. His eyes meet mine, and he makes a beeline for me.

Fate doesn’t bother asking me to speak privately. There’s no need in this bar, with these men. He knows that everyone who is in this room right now is family, the most trusted men in my world—in this world.

I watch as he jerks his chin, his gaze looking down his nose at me before he grunts. I watch him, unable to take my eyes off his. I know that this shit is serious, whatever it is. It is very clear that he’s not fucking around.

“We got a big fucking problem,” he states.

“What?” I demand.

He clears his throat and rocks back on his heels. He doesn’t want to say any of it out loud, but he knows he doesn’t have a choice. Atomic growls from beside me, and Fate clears his throat again, then begins to explain himself, and when he does, I understand his hesitation.

“There’s been a bounty put on Dillion’s head. Fifty grand to whoever can bring her to the OG charter of the Demon Guns MC in Memphis.”

The silence that fills the room threatens to choke me. Fifty grand. But it’s not the money. It’s the fact that someone felt it necessary to put a price on my woman’s head. I don’t know why they want her. I’m sure it has to do with the Southern Mafia, but there isn’t much of the Southern Mafia left.

That doesn’t mean that they didn’t have something already set in place. We haven’t had the time to really research anything yet. To figure out how deep and how far the Southern Mafia goes.

I know that their leader is from their main charter in Richmond, but past that, they haven’t ever really been on our radar, aside from the shit they pulled in Shreveport, but we got rid of that chapter, too.

They aren’t an MC, so they haven’t really been a focus of ours until all this shitstorm started a little over three years ago. And stupidly, as a group, we assumed that the contract we had with Conrad would be enough to keep them at bay until we were ready to end it.

But that’s not what happened, and now it’s time for us to adapt. This shit with my woman, with a price being on her head, that is not adaptation. That is outright war, and I’m ready to pounce.

“When do we attack?” I ask, swinging my gaze to Atomic.

He frowns. “I thought we could have at least started with this war tomorrow. Fuck, I guess we start tonight. Fate?” he calls out.

Fate jerks his chin, his gaze focusing on Atomic’s for a moment while he waits for him to speak. Atomic smirks. “You got any way of researching those dicks at the Demon Guns?”

“What do you want to know?” Fate asks.

“How many strong they are. Any info that I have on them is old as fuck.”

That right there pisses me off. Someone should always keep a running tally of what other nearby MCs are doing. There’s no way in fuck that we should be so self-focused that we don’t know what’s happening in the political aspects of other one-percent clubs that are our friends, enemies, or frenemies.

Fate’s eyes flick from Atomic to Nash, then back to Atomic. “I’ll see what I can find,” he murmurs.

I can tell that he isn’t very confident in his search. “Fate,” I call out. He jerks his chin toward me. “I’m going to get a couple of hours of sleep, then I’ll help you.”

His lips twitch into a smirk. “Meet down here at seven in the morning.”

“I’ll be here,” I say.

“Nash?” Atomic calls out.

He grunts as his response, but I can tell that none of this makes him happy. If I had to guess, he’s probably regretting the fact that he stepped down. I know he wanted to give the new generation a chance to take over.

King didn’t want to be the president. He also wasn’t super close with his dad at that time, so it wasn’t something that anyone was surprised about. Atomic seemed to be the way to go. A new generation that was trained by the old.

But he’s sucking ass and fucking up.

“Can you help King figure out what the Southern Mafia numbers look like? You still have the most contacts.”

Nash jerks his chin but doesn’t respond verbally. He’d probably rather work with King than anyone else right now, anyway. I don’t blame him. This entire situation is nothing but a complete fucking clusterfuck.

I’m ready to be done. To attack and get on with life. I know we won’t lose. It’s just not fucking possible. We’re going to win and have at least five minutes of calm before the next fucking storm. I manifest that shit.

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